


Better off the other way around

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Love Potion/Spell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-27
Updated: 2007-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	Better off the other way around

"Just. Don't mess with that pile of books," Andy said before he left the hotel-room and because Andy explicitly said _don't_ , Pete messed. He didn't do it to be an asshole; he was just a curious boy. Really.

It was all weird shit that Andy loved, dark illustrated magazines all neatly stacked together according to date. There were a few tattered ones on political expositions and Pete rolled his eyes at these, tossing them to one side.

The book on the bottom of the stack was what he was going for, because it looked and smelled old; the cover of it black and thick, rough under his touch, tingling at the whorls of his fingertips.

" _Olde Potions_ ," he read, smiling a little. So funny. Andy _would_ have a supremely weird book like this, carting around everywhere. The pages were yellow, brittle; he handled them carefully as he perused through _Antidotes for Poisons, Concoctions for Bites and Bruises_ , and then stopped at the chapter that said _Salves of the Heart._

What really got his attention was the entry on a love-potion.

"Jesus," he said, rolling his eyes some more and moving on to an entry describing a potion used to fend off unwanted lovers; he pondered making that and dousing rabid fans with it. Then he turned back to the love-potion.

He liked love, a whole lot. He liked having it in his life, that crazy feeling that comes over a person when there's somebody else making them float, ridiculous and almost heart-breaking at the same time. He wanted more love in his life. More sex would be totally excellent and if the two were twain, oh my. Life would be made of fucking bunnies and rainbows. He would write such happy shit to make people cry with joy. Or just cry, whatever.

And this was ridiculously easy to make.

***

  
_To make another person fall in love with you, brew this tea on a Friday during a waxing moon (moving from empty to full)._

"Ok, yeah," Pete muttered, pouring a bottle of Disani into the small pot he had asked the night-manager for. He was puttering around the kitchenette with the nutmeg, reading owlishly from the scrap of note-paper he had scribbled the potion on (before narrowly escaping to his own room when Andy discovered that Pete had messed with the order of his book-stack). He wasn't sure if the moon was waxing or waning, because he couldn't really see it from here; he didn't have an earthenware or copper tea kettle so the dinky little white saucepan had to be pressed into service; and he didn't have honey, so he just put in extra sugar, because it was the thought that count, right? Right.

Stirring it as it boiled sort of put him in a contented little trance and he actually jumped when Patrick spoke up from behind him.

"Dude. It's, like, two a.m. What the hell are you cooking?" Patrick's voice was a little stuffy and it was kinda cute to listen to, but Pete was of the humble opinion that Patrick was cute all over, so yeah.

"I'm brewing, man. _Brewing_ ," he said with what he hoped was a witch-like cackle, giving an extravagant stir; Patrick stared at him as he seated himself at the counter.

"What is it? Smells nice." Patrick sniffed at the air for show and gave Pete a slow grin. Patrick at two a.m. was a mellow Patrick. Sweet. Patrick at any other time would make you want to scream, what with the abstract murmurings of rhyme and rhythm.

"Tea," Pete said and simply didn't clarify any more, even though he could feel Patrick's stare heavy on the side of his face.

"Tea," Patrick repeated and gave a small laugh. "Pete. You don't like tea."

"I _love_ tea," Pete said stubbornly, snapping off the burner and searching for a tea-cup in the cupboard.

"Um. No." Patrick was watching him closely as he poured out a careful cupful and sniffed at it. It _did_ smell good. Must have been the mint leaves. "You drink so much Starbucks that I always wonder if there's blood in your coffee-stream."

Pete ignored this and went to the large window with his cup. There was something he had to say, something about _goddess of love/hear now my plea/let [lover's name] desire me_. He sipped the tea, thinking that _Jeanae_ was a good _[lover's name]_ , and he kinda loved her, so that would be, you know. Nice. He'd be happy with her. He'd be _sure_ , at least.

He was halfway through his tea and ready to mutter the incantation in a low enough voice so that Patrick wouldn't hear when he heard a small clink from behind him. Turning with the mug still to his mouth, his eyes widened as he saw Patrick taking a long sip from another cup, smiling contentedly.

"This is pretty good," Patrick was saying, drinking some more and Pete felt something in his stomach clench up suddenly. Patrick made a face and put down his cup, placing a hand on his own stomach. "Wow, that...what was _that_?"

He looked up at Pete, blue eyes wide and Pete felt like a lightning-bolt struck right beside him; he strode over to stand in front of Patrick, put his cup down and took Patrick's face in his hands.

"Pete," Patrick said softly, looking up at him with eyes gone dark. Patrick, Pete decided, had the world's most amazing mouth and if he didn't do something to it, he would explode or maybe melt or both. At the same time. So he kissed it. He felt the fullness part willingly under his lips and he pressed forward into the vee of Patrick's thighs, tilting his head to taste more; Patrick moaned and his hands fluttered over Pete's shoulders, head bent almost all the way back because Pete was trying to devour him, sight, sound, taste, smell and Patrick was giving as good as he got.

Patrick broke the kiss and Pete dove for his neck. _Dove_. Because that neck was beckoning him, sirens' call, _kiss me, bite me, mark me_.

"Wait, wait," Patrick said breathlessly and Pete whined a little, because, oh man, _please_. His hand was scrambling at the hem of Patrick's dark t-shirt, searching for skin and when his fingers finally stroked the warm line of Patrick's stomach, he inhaled to steady himself and stroked a lot more.

"Wait. This is crazy," Patrick murmured, but he wasn't really fighting Pete off when Pete grabbed at the t-shirt and wrestled it over his head. Usually, Patrick would have the t-shirt under lockdown, slapping Pete's hands away because _nobody sees the torso_ , but maybe was busy enjoying Pete's tongue flickering over a nipple to complain. At least, he sounded as if he was enjoying it. _Oh, awesome_ , Pete thought with inane relish, _I think he moans in a major key_.

"We're not having sex out here," Patrick said in what might have been a firm tone but it was severely undermined by a slight squeakiness, brought on by Pete's hand pushing flat over the hard swell of his cock. Pete's mind did the happy dance, because this statement implied that sex was a total go, only not in the current location.

Easily remedied.

Maybe not so easily, because he _had_ to keep kissing Patrick as they stumbled their way to a bedroom, _any bedroom_ , throwing Patrick's shirt somewhere beside the sofa, pulling his shirt off and tossing it to goodness knows where. He was yanking off his boxers and Patrick was helping, which was good, because the kissing was most imperative. It was Patrick's room they ended up in because Pete could smell that ridiculously bland lotion that Patrick had taken to carrying around.

"I love you," he murmured as they're both naked and toppling onto the rumpled bed; he said it because it's _true_ , he wanted to say it out loud, he wanted Patrick to know what this whole thing _meant_ , him sprawled between Patrick's thighs and grinding down into him, sliding up and down against hot skin, feeling Patrick arch up into him, mouth hot underneath his, cock hot against his and slick with pre-come. It meant all sorts of crazygood shit and he said it again before his body tensed and he was coming, feeling Patrick shake right after him.

"Holy shit," he heard Patrick say in a low, wondering voice as Pete mouthed along his neck, trembling a little. Patrick pushed at his shoulders and Pete rolled off him, grappling with him a little so that Patrick's head was resting on his chest. Patrick was fumbling with the end of the sheet, wiping at both their bodies with a concentrated fastidiousness and Pete batted his hands away.

"I love you," he said firmly, tucking Patrick's head under his neck and drifted off.

***

Pete snapped awake and jumped out of the bed so fast that Patrick rolled off onto the floor.

"What? What?" Patrick yelled from the side of the bed and then apparently realized he was naked. "What the _fuck_?"

"Dude, what did you do?" Pete snapped, grabbing at a stray pillowcase and trying to wrap it around his waist. "Wait..."

"Of _course_ wait!" Patrick stared angrily at him, just the top of his head and his eyes appearing over the top edge of the bed. One hand snaked up, grabbing at the sheet and pulling it over. There was a quick rustling and Patrick reappeared with the sheet wrapped tightly about himself, snapping on the bedside lamp. "What did _you_ do?"

"I think we were doing something _together_ ," Pete said slowly, edging to the door. Patrick stepped forward threateningly and Pete froze.

"You put something in that tea," Patrick accused and Pete blinked at him, trying to project total innocence. "Pete. Tell me. I won't be mad."

"You need to learn to lie," Pete said with a nervous laugh, noting that Patrick's face was getting redder by the minute. "I'll give you a lesson later. Um--"

"Oh, you fucker," Patrick seethed, balling his hands into fists. The sheet slid down and Patrick grabbed at it, but not before Pete got a nice eyeful of bare pale chest. Pete blinked, because there were red, round marks on Patrick's skin, marching up to the side of his neck and it struck Pete that he had made those marks.

"A love potion," Pete said softly and Patrick frowned at him. "Yeah, I drank some and you drank some and--"

"Why would you make a love potion?" Patrick said and his voice was gentler than Pete expected. "Who would you make it _for_? That's crazy, by the way, because those things don't even work. You need to stop reading those--"

"--Harry Potter books, I _know_ , fuck, but it was for Jeanae. I think. Yeah."

There was a hush and Patrick was just giving him a long unreadable look.

"So. You made a potion for Jeanae."

"Well, _yeah_ , but I didn't have any honey--"

"And you kinda sort of fucked it up."

" _You_ drank some. Who told you to?" Pete bristled, but Patrick's face was undergoing some sort of strange grimace before he managed to put it under control.

"So it was a mistake, right?" Patrick flicked his gaze away from Pete's, searching for his clothes. "You made a stupid-ass potion, I drank it by mistake, we _slept together_ by mistake and we can put this behind us. Completely."

"Look," Pete started, because Patrick was talking in a flat, expressionless voice and he hated when Patrick did that. It meant that Patrick was feeling supremely upset and he...he really didn't want that. Ever. He adjusted his pillowcase. "Look, I'm sorry."

"Sure, you are," Patrick said, giving up his search to go dig through his suitcase. He pulled out a shirt and yanked it over his head, giving Pete a sudden pleasurable flashback of pulling _off_ Patrick's clothes, listening to Patrick groan. He closed his eyes a little and when he opened them, Patrick was already in a pair of boxers and pulling off the top-sheet, his mouth pulled into a thin, hard line.

"We're cool," Patrick said, right before Pete opened his mouth to ask. He lay on the bed, face-up, flinging one arm to cover his eyes. His lips were now parted, still slightly swollen and reddened; Pete had a sudden compulsion to go over there and touch them, remind himself how they felt. "I mean. I don't think you should really try to have a conversation with me until six in the evening tomorrow. But. We're cool."

Pete highly doubted that, because he only _looked_ stupid. And did stupid shit from time to time but he wasn't really _that_ stupid. But Patrick didn't move and he paused for just a few moments more before walking out with his pillowcase and trying to feel mad at---at _something_.  


***

"You need to lend me your potions book," Pete said to Andy as they packed up in the bus and Andy gave him a searching glance. "Don't look at me like that."

"I don't even want to know what you did," Andy sighed. "Is this why Patrick isn't talking to you? Joe was wondering this morning."

"We're talking," Pete said shortly, flinging paraphernalia onto his bunk. He sat at one of the sofa-seats and peered out of a side window, watching Patrick and Joe standing near to each other under some massive tree, chatting. Joe tapped Patrick on the brim of his hat and got a small reluctant laugh. Pete bit his lip and then looked at Andy. "You giving me the book, or what?"

"What." Andy dodged Pete's annoyed punch and walked back to his bunk, rummaging around and coming back with his book, holding it carefully. "What was it you did?"

Pete looked at him and then flipped to the page. Andy peered at it and then covered his face with his hands.

"You really didn't," he said, voice muffled against his hands. "Pete, sometimes--"

"I keep life interesting," Pete retorted. "It's the least I can do."

"You could do even less, sometimes," Andy said, but he dropped his hands and sat heavily beside Pete. "Tell Uncle Andy what you did wrong."

"That is creepy, on so many levels," Pete sighed, but he quickly explained his brewing steps. At the end of it, Andy was looking at him with mixed exasperation and admiration.

"Yeah. You...ok, you just made a weaker version of it," Andy said, dropping his voice as Patrick and Joe opened the door and stepped up into the bus. Pete snapped the book shut and tried to shove it casually between himself and Andy, earning him a scathing glare from Andy and a sidelong look from Patrick. Joe rolled his eyes and tried to argue with Patrick about changing bunks.

"So? What did it do?" Pete whispered as Patrick defended his territory loudly.

"How the fuck should I know?" Andy said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I'm not the one going around doing remixes to potions. Maybe it awoke long dormant desires." Andy laughed and then sobered quickly at the look on Pete's face. "That was a joke."

"It was meant for _Jeanae_ ," Pete said through his teeth. "Yes, I _know_ it was stupid. But Patrick drank it by accident and you know what I'm here thinking right now? That it might have been a pretty awesome accident."

A look of surprised relief flooded Andy's mild features. He laughed again, Patrick's yells at Joe nearly overriding the low chuckle.

"Oh, ok. So there's no problem then."

Pete wanted to strangle him.

"No!" he hissed and Joe was now thrashing Patrick with a pillow and laughing. "I mean. _Choosing_!"

"Um, yeah." Andy held up one hand. "So on this side, you have a girl who drives you a little batshit sometimes and," he held up the other hand, " _here's_ this little musical Einstein who thinks you walk on sunshine and drives you batshit with his awesomeness. Wow." He moved his hands up and down, weighing the options. "This is so very hard."

"He thinks that--? No, it's not that easy," Pete murmured, watching as Patrick and Joe tumbled onto the floor with strident yells. Andy bumped his shoulder with his own.

"Man, sometimes? It's not that hard."

***

Patrick didn't jump when Pete crawled into his bunk nearly a full two weeks after, carefully holding a tall venti-cup. Instead, he raised himself on his elbows and refused to move. Pete had to use his foot and shove him over.

"Ow, fuck," Patrick complained and kicked Pete as he curled up beside him, half lying down, half-sitting up. "Don't tell me that's tea."

"It's Starbucks," Pete clarified and then placed it in Patrick's hands. "It's for you."

Patrick stared at the white cup in his hands and then blinked at Pete, so close to him.

"Dude, you've never given me any of your coffee before," Patrick said, speaking low. He turned the cup in his hands and passed his thumbs over the logo.

"The tea was bad. It was a bad idea. I have a lot of bad ideas, you know this," Pete mumbled and Patrick gave him a flashpoint grin. "You know me."

"Oh yeah, I know you," Patrick said, sitting up fully to open the cup and take a long delighted sip.

"Oh, there's some potion in that," Pete said casually and Patrick spewed the mouthful in his face. Pete scowled at him and wiped his face. "That was a lie."

"I know," Patrick said, smiling widely and then looking a little more serious. "I...so I didn't need a potion, imagine that."

"Good. Because I really can't brew that shit again," Pete sighed, placing a kiss on his cheek as Patrick drank his coffee. "I don't have to, you know," he murmured against Patrick's skin.

"I like tea," Patrick said, finally deigning to kiss Pete, deep and dark and sweet. "But I'll live with this."


End file.
